It was just Ryan Wolfe's luck to get himself into this sort of trouble. This time, it wasn't even his fault. Not unless history was traced way back, anyway. He wondered how he had ended up here, with this shitty paid-by-the-hour job, loading guns, setting targets, teaching potential serial killers how to hold and use firearms. And to think, just two years ago, he had transferred to the crime lab because he wanted to see his cases through, wanted to make sure murderers and rapists didn't get away with their crimes.
The irony was almost enough to make him bust out into bouts of random laughter, but even dry, sarcastic laughs had been difficult to come by recently.
There was no satisfaction when he left the interrogation room, and he couldn't find the energy to care that he had just helped put a guilty man away. He was tired, and while he did think his stubble looked good on him, it had been associated more with his exhaustion than with a conscious choice to grow facial hair. The large 'V' clipped to his jacket made him wary, and it felt strange to have familiar lab techs pass him in the hall and look away. He'd never been an elitist, but he couldn't help but feel that, if anything, it should be the other way around.
And though his gambling had been the catalyst, he didn't think he deserved all this. The last few months hadn't been his proudest moments, but he just wanted to go back to what he's always loved doing most: solving puzzles, slowly piecing the clues together until a big, bold arrow pointed in one direction only. There was no other feeling quite like it, and a light tang of nostalgia rang in his chest. He missed this.
He missed something else too – or rather someone – which surprised him more than anything else. He never thought he'd miss the eye-rolling, the exasperated sighs, the "Ryan, get out of my lab before I stick this test tube up where it hurts."
He smiled at that memory, at the thought of her, and briefly, he wondered what she was up to and if he ever crossed her mind. He hoped so, but then again, why should she have to be bogged down by him and his problems? After all, she was just another lab tech, would give him the same disapproving look if she passed him in the halls. But he knew – hoped, anyway – that this point wasn't true.
He wasn't sure if it was wishful thinking or a subconscious voice, but moments later, he found himself standing outside the DNA lab. He could see her through the glass, face scrunched slightly in concentration, attention focused solely on the monitor in front of her. Her hair was brown again, he noted; he always did like her better as a brunette, though he never really cared what color her hair was as long as she processed his samples and stayed away from psychotic, abusive men and kept up the playful bantering with him.
She was alone, and he felt his hand grow sweaty. That embarrassed him, because what the hell, he wasn't thirteen years old.
He pushed the door open anyway, stood there for a moment. She didn't seem to notice his presence, probably didn't even hear the door opening, and he felt a little foolish standing there, rolling on the balls of his feet. A whole minute must've passed before his brain started functioning, and he wondered if anybody was watching him and his hesitation, wondered if passersby thought he looked as much like an idiot as he felt. It wasn't like it could get any worse for him, anyway. He cleared his throat.
"Valera?"
She looked up from her computer and seemed momentarily taken aback. "Ryan, hey!" she greeted. She smiled and approached him. "How's it going?"
"Not too bad," he replied, deciding that people rarely wanted to hear the absolute truth when asking how others were. His hands found his pockets. "How about you?"
"Still running DNA samples for a living," she laughed, rolling her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"Uh, to see you," he replied, and the small smile he got in return was well worth the nerves. "Thought that was obvious," he teased, waving his hand at the empty room, "given that you're the only one in this lab."
"Well, I meant in general," she clarified, her smile widening. "Why are you at MDPD?"
He shrugged, not wanting to go into the details, not really wanting her to know what he's really been up to. "Natalia called me, asked me to help her with a case," he replied casually.
"Oh," she said softly, looking down, and there was something there that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but quickly, she covered it up by smiling. "Well, it's nice to see you again, Ryan." She looked up, smiled again, made a small excusing motion and started to turn back to her work, and he frowned.
"I, uh, I work at a firing range," he heard himself saying, and he wasn't sure why he said it, because there was no pride there, but he did anyway, and she turned back to look at him. He ran his hand quickly over his nose. "'Cause they don't pay me anymore," he explained, gesticulating nervously, "and I gotta make a living, so—"
"Yeah, I heard," she interrupted, giving him a tight smile.
He frowned, found his hands in his pockets again. "How?"
Valera shrugged. "Natalia was there earlier," she replied a little dismissively, and there it was again; he wished he could figure out what it was.
"Oh, yeah, she was," he agreed, irked that Natalia couldn't keep her mouth shut. "She, uh, she promised me she wouldn't say anything," he added, looking at Valera expectantly.
"Well, in her defense, it just kinda came up," Valera offered, tilting her head in confusion.
"I can't imagine what the lead-in could've possibly been," he remarked dryly.
She took a moment to think before she replied, which admittedly was rare for her. "Cute guys, actually," she said carefully, studying his reaction.
"Really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, half-amused, half-horrified.
"Yeah," she nodded, but she backtracked immediately. "Wasn't me who mentioned you, though. I mean, not that I don't think you're—" She paused, smiled awkwardly at him and decided not to finish that sentence. "I just thought of Tobey Maguire first."
He looked at her in amusement. "You like that?" he asked, raising a surprised eyebrow.
"He's cute!" she replied defensively.
"I thought you liked bad boys," he commented playfully.
"Well, you know, I've got a soft spot for geeky guys," she confessed.
He nearly choked on himself at that, and it was far from eloquent, but she didn't seem to notice.
She smiled. "Anyway, Horatio's been on my back all day, so I'd better get back to work," she said, taking a step away.
He reached out and grabbed her arm, pulled a little harder than he had wanted to, and she spun around, wide-eyed. He dropped his hand quickly and cursed himself for being so dysfunctional. "Valera, listen. You know I don't mean any of that stupid stuff I say when I want my evidence processed quickly, right?" he asked, and he looked at her with such an urgent expectancy that she didn't know what the hell was going on or how to respond for a moment.
"Those were jokes, Ryan," she replied, testing the words. "I think I got that."
"Yeah," he said, looking around the room uneasily.
"Ryan, what—" She frowned and narrowed her eyes. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah." He sighed, releasing a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. "I just miss this." And in that moment, he wasn't even talking about his job as a CSI for Miami-Dade. He was talking about this, the modest little DNA lab that Valera spent the better part of her days in. He was talking about getting to see her every day, chatting, teasing, arguing, pushing buttons until her cheeks were flushed in frustration; things he never thought he'd miss.
But he did, and the realization hit him hard.
He didn't want to wait "up to a year" to be able to return to this little routine that they'd developed together. He didn't even want this little routine anymore, he realized. It wasn't enough. He craved more. He craved her.
And that realization left him reeling. He stumbled slightly.
"I should go," he said suddenly, looking up to see Valera studying him curiously.
"Ryan, we miss you, too," she offered finally, and he wondered if her pause could be attributed to her understanding of the implications of his words, wondered if she could read his mind, wondered if this was it.
He frowned. "Doesn't seem like it," he commented bitterly, shrugging, and he couldn't keep the distaste out of his words.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped, true resentment evident, and it was so uncharacteristic of her to be genuinely angry that he felt his head pounding.
"I don't know," he replied, feeling inadequate. "Natalia even asked me if I had been reinstated. If she'd noticed that I haven't been around in the last few months, she would know the answer," he said pointedly. Valera's facial features softened, and he took a deep breath and continued, "Delko and I had our differences, but we hung out, you know? Now he's on edge all the damn time, a real pain in the ass to be around."
"I noticed that, too," Valera noted. "And when he and Calleigh are in the same room together? I'm pretty sure their tension is the real cause of climate change."
"I just saw Calleigh for the first time in weeks," Ryan complained, not wanting to sound like a whiny six-year-old but failing miserably. "Everybody seems to have forgotten about me," he added.
"I haven't," she offered with a tinge of indignation. She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "Stop being such a pessimist, Ryan. It's not like you made an effort to keep in touch with anyone," she pointed out, and he knew she was right.
He looked at her guiltily. "I—"
"Oh, and just so you know," she interrupted, "it's generally customary to send a polite thank you to people who spend their time and energy to buy and mail you a birthday present."
"What?" he asked, authentically confused.
She gave him a sarcastic smile. "The tie?"
He shook his head. "What tie?"
"I sent you a tie." She frowned, uncrossed her arms and dropped them to her side. "For your birthday."
"When?" he asked stupidly.
"In July," she replied, hinting obviousness. "When it was, you know, your birthday," she emphasized.
"I never got a tie." He frowned, then smiled a little. "You sent me a tie?"
"Yeah." She chuckled. "Would you have liked it?"
"Well, what did it look like?" he asked slowly.
She threw her hands into the air and sighed. "No wonder you don't have a girlfriend!"
He laughed nervously. "What'd I do?"
"You're not supposed to care what it looks like, Ryan," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
His mouth opened in realization, and he smiled apologetically. "I've never been good at that," he admitted.
She smiled, studied him for a long time. "Strands of DNA," she said finally. When he gave her a confused look, she laughed. "The tie," she explained. "It had strands of DNA on it." She looked at him expectantly. "You would've never worn it, but—"
"Yeah, I would've," he interrupted, looking straight at her and trying to convey to her that he was dead serious, wanted her to know that he wasn't just a little fuck-up. He wasn't sure how wearing a tie with strands of DNA on it would help him do that, but it was the best he could do with what he had.
"It was pink," she supplied, lips curving up in amusement.
"Oh…"
She sighed heavily and crossed her arms over her chest. "There you go again!"
"What?" he asked, and his eyes shot up, but she was smiling.
"It wasn't pink and your hesitation is not very charming," she explained, tapping her foot impatiently against the floor.
"Oh," he repeated, and even though his brain was going at the speed of light, he couldn't process a damn thing.
"Neither is your mental sluggishness," she teased. She smiled. "Looks like I was pissed at you this whole time for nothing."
"Valera, I—" He paused, took a quick look at her face, her big, brown eyes. "I miss this."
"Yeah, you mentioned that," she replied slowly, nodding.
"No, I mean—" He sighed in frustration. "I miss you." He took another quick look, swallowed. "I miss us." He laughed humorlessly, unable to look directly at her. "Was there even an us?"
"Of course," she replied softly.
He shrugged. "Okay, well, I miss it."
"Ryan."
Her tone was unmistakable. She wanted him to stop, to not go down this path because it wouldn't do anyone any good, and he figured that if she verbalized the thoughts going through her head, she'd speak of his problems, of her insanity and of the big question mark skipping around their compatibility. But he had confirmation that she had thought of him (that's what the birthday present was about, wasn't it?), and she had admitted that she missed him (carefully hidden behind the 'we' but he knew better). He was sick of dancing around the issue, was sick of watching people close to him toss around the words 'workplace professionalism' like it actually had some meaning. Fuck it, he decided. He didn't even work here anymore, probably wouldn't be working here for months, so there was no need to maintain anything. Protocol didn't apply to him, and there was a liberating thought.
"Are you doing anything after shift?" he asked, and he'd surprised himself, but he looked up and realized that he'd surprised her more.
She shook her head, her hair swishing around her face, and she was wide-eyed again. "No, but—"
"I know this little Greek restaurant near the gun range," he interrupted, studying her. "We should go."
And this was where she'd say yes or no, and he'd like to believe he was ready for either answer, but as it turned out, he didn't need to be, because she replied with neither.
"Natalia likes you," she said simply.
He frowned, and he found that it didn't even really register with him. "Okay."
"She told me that today," she continued, a little avoidant and that was pretty uncharacteristic of her, which gave him hope that she was seriously considering this.
"I, uh, I'm not sure how this is really relevant," he replied, scratching his head.
She scoffed. "I don't want to be known as the crush-stealing bitch!"
"Valera," he chuckled, "we're not in middle school."
It was her turn to study him, and he shifted a little uncomfortably under her scrutiny, but she wasn't really sizing him up, only wanted to watch him squirm, and she realized that maybe this was going to be a fun experience after all.
"My shift ends at five," she offered.
"Five," he repeated, nodding.
"So come by my place around seven," she said.
Another nod. "Seven."
"I wonder what would happen if I surprised you and strung together a sentence that didn't end with a number," she teased.
He was confused for a moment, but chuckled nervously at the realization. "I'll be more coherent over the souvlakis, I promise."
She smiled. "I'd better get back to work," she said, nodding toward the computer she had abandoned.
"Yeah," he replied, "and Valera? Thanks."
He could tell that she wanted to ask what for, but she didn't, and he knew that somewhere, she knew why, even though she might not understand it. She moved back to her samples and gave him one last look before he turned around to leave.
And as he walked through the halls, past lab techs who looked away, it didn't bother him anymore, because the only lab tech who really mattered didn't look away.